Cliche
by kissmelikeapirate
Summary: He's the talent. She's his manager. That's where things get complicated.


chasingawaythefoosa on Tumblr asked for a rock star/manager au

Killian Jones was such a cliche.

Black leather, brooding good looks, eyeliner. The works.

Emma Swan teased him about it constantly.

It was what had made him so popular on the Boston circuit. That and the fact that he was a hell of a singer.

Quite how Emma had ended up managing the roguish Brit was a bit of a convoluted tale involving mutual friends, low funds and too much vodka. Turned out though that she was good at it. So good, that every weekend Kilian was booked solid, playing to packed crowds with his small back up band. There were even enquiries coming from further afield, tentative requests from record companies and, yes, groupies.

Which was who she was fighting through at The Rabbit Hole one Friday night after a killer set that had lit up the room and left a small gaggle of ladies lingering by the door that led backstage.

"'Xcuse me," she huffed, wriggling through the mass of hairspray and cheap themed cocktails. Tiny, the bouncer, nodded her through the sacred door as the other women pouted and complained.

"More this week," he observed as she passed by.

"Yep," she quipped, side-eyeing the one trying to slip Tiny a ten to let her go through. "Same old, just more of."

Backstage, the band members were packing up their equipment, but Killian was sat alone, his ever present hip-flask dangling between his fingers.

"That was a good show."

He looked up as she approached, his smile warm and genuine.

"I messed up a few chords in that last song." There was a frown as he took another drink.

"Like anyone noticed." She pulled up one of those cheap orange plastic chairs that seemed to congregate in spaces like that, and sat beside him. "You have quite the group waiting for you."

She nodded towards the door and he twisted his mouth. "Not tonight Swan."

Emma raised her brows. He usually liked to spend the last hour or so in the bar, picking up a few numbers, or just women in general.

Come to think of it, it had been some time since she had actually seen him leave with someone.

[[MORE]]

"Turning over a new leaf?" she teased, snatching his flask and taking a sip.

"You could say that."

As curious as she was to understand just what was wrong with Killian, she also knew him well enough to understand that questioning him was a road to nowhere. He wasn't one to play games like some men did. If he wanted to explain, he would.

"Hey- that club in New York is really interested in you playing this summer. How do you feel about a little vacation?"

"Will you be there?"

"Of course," she laughed. "Part of the job description."

He frowned, quicking looking over his shoulder. The band were done, they waved their goodbyes as they wheeled their cases out of the back exit to the van that.

"About that. I'm not sure how this is going to work out."

Her blood ran cold. "What?"

"You and me. I mean, you being my manager."

Cold dread ran into hot annoyance.

"What? What the hell - Killian, I've put in hours of work getting you gigs. Hours spent pleading and begging with stupid bar owners and - damn, do you know how sleazy some of them are - and now you - you-"

The anger and confusion she felt all came pealing out in a sea of jumbled words.

She could see him trying to speak, but she couldn't stop.

How dare he? _How dare he?_

It took him taking hold of her hands to end the tirade.

"It's not you, Emma, it's me."

She gave him her most unimpressed glare. "Seriously."

"That came out wrong."

He suddenly stood, dropping her hands, picking his flask back up from where she had discarded it in her lap, sipping as started to pace before her.

"See, you are a fantastic manager. Seriously. When David suggested you could do this I didn't know what to expect but, damn, you've blown away any expectations I could have had." He was talking with his hands. He did that when he was nervous.

"Oh," she sighed. "I'm confused. Wait - have you had a better offer? I think my cut is more than fair-"

"I haven't had a better offer."

"Then are the band breaking up?" she shrieked.

"No, we are very much still together."

"Or are you just not going to use me any more? Huh, that's so shitty Killian. I developed all these relationships with bar owners- do you just plant to bypass me or-"

"No, dammit Emma, stop bloody talking!" He sounded exasperated. She watched as he tugged on the hair at his crown. "I'm trying to be honest with you here."

She looked him square on. Her chin set defiantly.

"Well?"

The little muscles in his jaw flickered as he clenched his teeth together a few times. Emma stuck out her chin further and folded her arms.

"I'm falling for you."

Of all the things he could have said, this would have came pretty much last on the list of possibilities.

" _You're what now_?" she squeaked. Dazed. Confused. Maybe a little numb?

He shrugged weakly. "You heard me. I'm at a total loss for how to navigate these feelings."

She scrunched her brow as she tried to understand what he was saying.

"So you want me to quit, is that it?" she snapped, tears forming. Confused, angry tears. He liked her? What did that mean? He was so somber it clearly meant bad things. Like that they could no longer work together or he wanted her gone so she wasn't a distraction-

"Fuck, no. I just want to be able to ask you on a bloody date without some stupid conflict of interest."

Her lips were making shapes, but no words came. He carefully sat back down. "I've wanted to say something for weeks but I didn't know how. But I can't pretend anymore that I don't… care."

She silently nodded, taking in all this new information.

"Say something, love. Have I totally fucked everything up?"

Emma thought back to those times she'd watched him leave with another woman or take their number, or sing a love song to some girl he'd picked from the crowd. She thought of all those little pin-pricks of jealousy she had so carefully filed away, not to be thought about. She recounted all those times he'd made her see he wasn't some damn cliche: that he was kind, generous and a gentleman. That he always overtipped. That he always opened doors for women. That when she talked he really listened. That he valued everything she had to say. That he was genuinely one of the best men she knew. Both inside, and out.

"Ask me."

His pained expression slowly began to transform.

"Ask me," she repeated.

Now he was really smiling.

"Emma - would you do me the honour of going on a date with me?"

For a second, she pretended to think about it, tapping her chin with her finger. "Hmmm… Well I don't know, I'm not a huge fan of the guyliner."

He looked at her like she wasn't sure if she was joking or being serious.

"Yes," she laughed, her hand going to punch him in the shoulder until he caught it and brought it to his lips. "Yes," she said again, much more softly as he kissed her hand and she began to feel a little lightheaded. "I'd love to."

Then his lips found hers and they shared a brief, searing kiss that confirmed that she had made the right decision.

He kissed her cheek before whispering, "Isn't a manager dating the talent a little cliche for you?"

Emma slipped her arms around his neck. "So we're dating now?"

"I'm hopeful," he drawled, gazing into her eyes.

"Maybe a little cliche isn't such a bad thing."

And she kissed him. Again. And again and-

You get the picture.

 **A/N: I'm trying to avoid cliched turns of phrase when I write. It's so hard. That's where part of this idea comes from. Thanks for reading.**


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